


Huntress' Prize

by FoxyWolfMeerkat



Series: A Bear and A Halla [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dalish Flirting, F/M, Violence to a Nug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2019-01-04 16:01:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12172176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FoxyWolfMeerkat/pseuds/FoxyWolfMeerkat
Summary: Pursuit is a damn dangerous thing. Sometimes you never realize you've been taken.





	Huntress' Prize

The first time Blackwall saw Lady Lavellan was when he first arrived in Haven. His attention had been elsewhere initially, taking in the blacksmithy, the village, the troops. The Inquisition was small, unprepared, but there were good people here. Good intentions and purpose. He'd made the right choice, coming here.

Her voice caught his attention where her coming over hadn't, despite being hushed. Bright, high and lyrical like a songbird. "Da'falon! Ny vegaras." Her focus was on the Herald, hugging the shorter elf tightly. It was reminiscent of how a worried mother would hug, but she didn't look at all like the tan skinned young man.  
"Vin, 'ma'halla," he said, hugging her back with as much enthusiasm. When he pulled away he kept a hand on her back to guide her attention and waved a hand over Blackwall. "Miris, meet Blackwall. He's a Grey Warden come to join the Inquisition."

She tilted her head slightly, looking him over with wide, light grey eyes. "I have not met a Grey Warden before." Her thick lips pulled into a very small smile and she extended her hand to him, "It is good to have you, Warden Blackwall."

"The pleasure is all mine, Lady...?" He took her hand, shaking it politely in greeting.

She looked to the Herald at the question. "Ah... Dalish elves don't really have last names," he quickly explained, "but I suppose 'Lavellan' would be the next best thing."

"Lady Lavellan then." So were they related? Or just from the same clan? Both? The man wasn't really sure what sort of a bond they had still but it was evidently a close one.

She blushed a little at the title, but that tiny smile came back to her face. It took Blackwall a moment to realize he was still clasping her hand. He could feel the Herald's eyes picking him apart when he finally released it, but nothing was said by either of the elves on the matter. "It's a pleasure to be here."

 

The Herald introduced him to his other allies; the spymaster, Lady Nightingale, was the last. She had a number of questions for him, but he had no more information for her than he had for the Herald himself. After the interrogation, the Herald let him have his pick of the available quarters. He chose the hut used by the blacksmiths, figuring that he could be of use here on quieter days. Out of the way but available for things like splitting wood or bringing finished armor and weapons to the officers who needed them.

Additionally, it provided an unsettling view of the Breach. A firm reminder of why he was here, among other people again with the intention of staying for quite a time.

 

Over the next few days, as the Herald planned their next excursion, Blackwall had plenty of time to get into the swing of things in Haven. He quickly noticed the patterns, when the smithy got the forge going, when Cullen started training, and how early Lady Lavellan woke to go out into the surrounding wilderness to help keep the village fed. And she was good at what she did. Strings of nugs on her belt, sometimes hauling a ram in over her back. Clean and simple kills done with the daggers also bound to her hips. Blackwall overheard once that she'd bring in elfroof and the like as well some days. The potion and poultice makers were quite thankful.

Blackwall had been looking up at the Breach, waiting for the Herald to finish his preparations so they could leave for the Crossroads once again when he was tugged from his thoughts by the Lady's soft, clear voice once again.

"You have been watching me."

The man pushed up off the stone fence and gave her his full attention. "Oh, have I? ...I apologize, I didn't mean to intrude."

She shook her head, her caramel colored hair jostling around her shoulders and across her forehead, "It is fine. Why?"

"You're skilled and you put it to good use. It's admirable," he said, wondering if he seemed flustered. It was true, and he meant nothing but respect. Yet it felt like he'd been caught with his hand in a cookie jar.

Miris smiled slightly, big eyes seeming to chuckle at him. "You have not seen me do anything. 'Ma serannas: thank you. Your words are... kind."

"There's no reason to thank me, Lady Lavellan. Only stating what I've noticed." Despite himself, Blackwall found himself taking her in more closely than he had on their first meeting. She had a baby face in spite of obviously being a grown woman. Full cheeks, high cheekbones, big eyes and pump lips. The woman's face was flushed pink from the cold and also absolutely covered in light freckles. Her ears reminded him a bit of a deer's. All but forward facing and wide. Yet her eyes felt wise, not innocent, crow's feet branching at the corners. The faint, spring green tattoos framing her face helped add age much like the wrinkles he could see did. He'd bet there were more behind her bangs.

"Then thank you for noticing. ...You are going soon, yes?"

"This time at least. I'm to assist in dealing with the rogue templars." She likely already knew this on account of her relation to the Herald, but it seemed the right thing to say anyway.

She nodded, "Good fortune, that I might greet you on your return."

 

And indeed she did when the time came, just after the Herald. Blackwall could tell the younger man noticed, but he didn't necessarily seem hostile to the change. She'd walk with him as he headed up to the Chantry, the pair talking in Elven together and leaving everyone else in the dark. Blackwall was content to part with them at the gates so he could go and kick up his feet for what remained of the evening.

Things proceeded as usual the next morning, at least at first. It started with a nug wandering about on the path before his hut: Blackwall ignored it initially. Years out in the wilderness had a way of getting a man used to wildlife after all. Miris came back from the woods around the village, waving to Blackwall as she approached the but stopped everything when the animal's movement fetched her eye. She blinked at it a few times before hurrying along, making Blackwall wonder for a moment if there was something wrong with the little thing.

A few minutes later however, the huntress came back out from the gates, setting up a fire by the frozen lakeside all while keeping a very close eye on the fat nug. Once pleased with her fire (for having to contend with the snow and wet, it was decent), she moved towards the nug slowly, the careful, quiet placement of her feet never getting it's attention. She didn't pounce the moment she was in range, creeping ever just the slightest bit forward more. When she finally fell upon it, the most it managed was a short squeak of distress.  
Lady Lavellan stayed kneeling, grabbing the proper tools from her belt and making quick work of butchering the animal: skinning it, gutting it, the whole works. There was impressed muttering off to his right from the rest of her audience. A journeyman leatherworker fetched the skin from her, which she handed over without a second thought. From there she got the meat of the nug up over the fire and vanished to dispose of the offal which couldn't be used. Things that could be used were grabbed from where she'd left them by another hunter who'd come to watch when she'd come back out of the village.

Her hands were red, not from blood but from cold, when she returned. Drying them off on a small rag she'd had with her, the woman moved back to the roasting nug and started seasoning it with whatever was in the little pouch almost hidden by everything else on her belt. Without even glancing back at him to check that he was looking, Miris waved Blackwall over to her.  
He obliged her request.

"So, you have seen me now." She fussed over her kill, making sure it cooked right.

"Indeed. You're even more skilled than I first imagined. ...That wasn't the only reason you did that, is it?" It'd been entertaining, in it's own gory right, but it was odd to imagine a woman showing off for him of all people.

"Not only that. You have not joined us for food in the morning. You not should go hungry, Ser Blackwall." Miris paced around the fire, frowning in discontent at the ground. "...Wood chairs not are good with snow. We will have to eat somewhere else."

Well, that was quite flattering; the thoughtfulness made him smile. "That's fine, Lady Lavellan. ...Perhaps inside? You seem cold. ...It should be 'are not', by the way, miss."

She looked up to him, "Eh? ...Oh," then wilted, reaching up to tug at one of her ears. "Oh yes. I am sorry."

"You're fine. I understood you; simply trying to help."

Her hand slipped from her ear to her shoulder, looking at him blankly for a moment before flushing and smiling sweetly. "'Ma serannas... I appreciate help." Her grey eyes darted back to the fire, feet shifting under her like a nervous horse.

"It's nothing." He folded his arms loosely, watching as she continued tending to the roasting meal. Already it was starting to smell pretty nice.

 

Miris was quietly insistent that from then on out: Blackwall would join her for breakfast. Yet it didn't end there. The woman often sat with him during dinner as well. The Herald's sharp red eyes would often look over the two of them, curious but not judgemental.

Their talks outside of mealtimes were short but frequent, neither side pressing too much into the other's personal history. When she tried, he sternly changed the subject. When he tried, she wilted like a daisy about to be overwhelmed by a wildfire and he found himself changing the subject for her before she could even go into it. And so instead: she'd ask about the Wardens and his time recruiting, he'd ask about the Lavellan and hunting stories, and they got a good, functional idea of who the other was.

Sometimes they spoke about the Breach. She said that looking at it 'made her head spinning'. Blackwall couldn't help but agree. It was both dizzying to look at and frightening as well. Much as he should have, he didn't correct her that particular time. Personally, he'd found the broken description more accurate than the true one.

Her Common did start getting better over the weeks however, between gentle corrections and plain practice. The Herald was very proud of her, and not shy to say so. Blackwall was as well, but with the other man's praise about, he didn't feel it necessary to add on. With one exception: when she pulled the Herald's attention to say that he had been an important help to her improvements. It felt natural then, to say that she'd been progressing wonderfully. The smile this caused was brilliant, estatic and full of teeth. The man truly hoped he'd end up seeing such a rare sight again.  
It was strange to think that someone like himself could cause a smile like that on anyone.

 

Ultimately, the Herald got the mages for help. Lady Lavellan was unbothered by this, introducing herself to some of them. Particularly that Tevinter fellow, Pavus. Miris didn't go out of her way to hang around the mages however. If she wasn't with the Herald, or Haven's other hunters, she was often with him. Blackwall couldn't say he minded female company. She was two years his elder, but still very gentle on the eyes. Unbelievably graceful.

When the Herald closed the Breach, Blackwall got to see yet more of this first hand, as she happily joined the revelry by the fire. He might have been content to watch by the sidelines, but that wasn't meant to be.

She practically skipped over to him, holding out her hands. "Will you be dancing with me? I think you should."

He laughed softly, "Oh, is that what you think? Well, far be it from me to tell the Lady she's wrong." Blackwall took her hands, letting the woman pull him into the fray. Though nothing made his heart beat faster than the way her lovely grey eyes never left him.


End file.
